


The Things Already True

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Positive, Cullenlingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, plus size, self love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: One night when working in the kitchens, Anya meets the Commander. A friendship blossoms, but she sees him as more.Can she dare to dream?





	The Things Already True

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gugle1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gugle1980/gifts).



> I struggle with self image sometimes but I want you all to know, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE!

The night he crept into the kitchens, Anya noticed small parts of the Commander before anything else. She was working alone, finishing scouring the last few pots and pans used for dinner that evening when his presence startled her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, taking a beat before he spoke. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here. I only missed dinner. I was looking for something to eat. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He came to the kitchen without his armor. He must have wanted the anonymity walking without his usual mantle and breastplate gave him, but his golden hair and demeanor made him unmistakable. Though she had never been in his immediate presence before, she had seen him with his men. He was unmistakable in her eyes, and when the small parts of him came into focus. The strength of his hands, worn in parts that denoted a life of hard work and fighting. Hair that was usually tidy and swept back now curling at the sides. Tired eyes, purple shadows underneath.

Even so, Anya admitted what she had held back admitting all those months ago when she first saw him at the gates of Haven: he was beautiful.

Wordlessly, he took the wicker basket of rolls left over from dinner and nodded at her before turning for the door. Anya called back him. She offered to make him something fresh to eat.

“It’s not necessary,” he insisted. “These will do.”

“You’re the commander of the Inquisition,” Anya replied. “Please. Let me do something for you.”

For the Commander, Anya whipped up a batch of Ferelden lamb and pea stew. She took liberties with the recipe, substituting a few spices for ones she had on hand instead. The Commander sat at the wooden table as Anya worked in silence. She felt as though he was scrutinizing every part of her, and she was uncomfortably aware that he was getting a view of her side profile, by far the worst view of her. Though when she finally allowed herself the smallest peek, she was overwhelmed. There was no scrutiny, no disgust. There was only gratefulness.

“Thank you,” he said after Anya served him. She heard her heart thunder in her chest as he took the first bite, felt herself fall as he held an expression she could not place.

“You don’t like it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can make another—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. It’s wonderful.”

Anya served him another after he was done with the first bowl, and then another. He thanked her again before he left.

“Really,” she promised. “It’s no trouble.”

“It was like how my mother used to make it,” he said. “It made me remember home. Truly. Thank you again. Thank you so much.”

The final thing was that he asked her for her name.

“Anya,” she said.

He smiled. “It’s a lovely name.”

She shouldn’t have dared to ever dream, and though she didn’t start that night, it was the beginning. But that night when she returned to her room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For the faintest moment, she saw her full figure and curves and found them beautiful. She thought herself beautiful until she went back to the kitchen that morning, and Mara, one of the other kitchen hands, made a comment about her corset.

“Trying to make yourself thinner?” She asked, before laughing over the pot of oats.

No. She couldn’t dare dream.

* * *

 

After that night, what she didn’t think much of before, that Cullen was never there for dinner and hardly ate, became all she could think about.

She experimented with a different recipe and asked one of the scouts to send the Commander the meal a few days after their meeting in the kitchen. The untouched plate with the cold Shepard’s pie she made came back a day later. It was suggested Anya shouldn’t take it personally. The Commander hardly ate after all.

The night after she made the stew again and marched up to the Commander’s tower herself.

“You didn’t eat the Shepard’s pie,” she said. “So I made the stew again.”

“Anya,” Cullen said, setting his quill down on his desk and rising from his desk. “That was you who sent the food?”

“Yes, but you didn’t eat it.”

Sighing, he came over to her. She felt her heart pound. It was ridiculous to come to his tower, ridiculous to think he would care about her. He would send her away. She gave most people the curtesy of not having to interact with her, but with the Commander, she didn’t understand why she had so brazenly decided to come to him.

She waited for it—the get out, leave.

It didn’t come.

He put his hands on her shoulders. He was so much taller than her. For the first time, she felt small and dainty.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I lose track of time, and before I know it it’s midnight and I haven’t eaten.”

“You need to eat Commander,” Anya said. “You work so hard.”

“I have to,” he said simply. His hands still held her.

“But you also have to take care of yourself.”

He ate the lamb and pea stew that night, Anya keeping him company. At the end of the night when she returned to the kitchens with a cleaned-out bowl and spoon, he asked her to call him Cullen.

* * *

 

She dared dream after that, that maybe he would look at her and see more. She did however learn to be content with what they had, bringing him his evening meal and staying with him to make sure he ate. It was their ritual, and when she really began to see the small parts of Cullen. The way he chuckled softly when she said something funny. The crookedness of his smile as she told him stories of the goings on in the kitchen. The way they told stories of their childhoods. The way he was Cullen with her, rather than Commander. He asked. He listened. He cared.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the first, but one evening when the sun turned to the twilight sky, Cullen looked at Anya with his soft hazel eyes, and she felt it again, the flutter of her heart that she had grown accustomed to suppressing in their time together, because she was grateful with what they had, and she could not wish for more, even though she did anyway.

“You’re too kind to me,” he said.

He looked at her hand resting on the table. He took a hold of it. Anya couldn’t breathe.

“Cullen,” she muttered. “I…”

“Anya…”

“You’re too kind to me,” she said.

“Anya, you come here every evening and you keep me company when you don’t have to.”

“You keep me company too,” Anya said. “You care about me, and what I have to say. And, Cullen, you…you make me feel beautiful.”

Her confession was swift, the words she did not mean to say hanging heavy in the air. No. She could not hear the truth, did not want Cullen, not Cullen to confess to her that he didn’t truly find her beautiful. How could he, when he could have anyone he wanted?

She heard him call her name as she got up and left, the evening air far chillier than it was when she arrived at the Commander’s tower. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tore several paces away, not stopping until she was certain she was far enough away that Cullen wouldn’t follow, or see the tears that streamed from her face. How could she be so stupid to believe that he found her beautiful? It had gotten so ridiculous, that even she had begun to look at her reflection in the mirror and see a beautiful woman, other than someone that was undesirable, or fat, or worthless. That’s how it had always been all her life. That little voice was always there. It could never completely go away. But. But…

But it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.

The thought she could never completely rid herself of swirled. All her life it was something. She was too fat, too weird, too anything negative she could conjure to matter or be someone worthwhile. Then she would feel good about herself, but it would be ruined when someone brought it up again.

Then there was Cullen, someone who was her friend. He ate the food she made, talked to her, and cared. She was able to look in the mirror and see a woman was beautiful. And dammit, even if he rejected her or didn’t think so, her curves were beautiful. She was beautiful. It had always been true, and it always would be.

The night air was cold. The thoughts stopped swirling. She knew they would be there most of her life. She only had to be stronger. Yet more than anything, it was clear. It was not Cullen that gave her worth. It was herself. And because she was worthwhile, she would go to Cullen and tell him the truth. He could reject her, it was true. But she would still be beautiful.

She only had to walk a few paces until Cullen found her.

“Anya,” he said, frantic, taking her hands. “Anya…I don’t care who it was that made you think you weren’t beautiful, but Maker…you are, and—”

“You’re more than a friend to me,” Anya said before he could. “You are my friend, yes, but Cullen, I care. So much. I see you are more, someone I want, and I don’t expect you to feel the same way about me, but—mhmmm.”

She believed it was a kiss, though she couldn’t be completely sure, it was all a blur when she was talking and then suddenly there was no more talking, and only swaying back and forth, his smell of elderflower and oakmoss, and the cradling of her cheeks in his gloves hands as he kissed her.

“You are beautiful,” Cullen whispered.

“I want you,” she whispered back.

He kissed her again, fire and warmth and everything she could ever imagine his kiss to be, and so much more, for she did not imagine the slightly prickly feel of his stubble, pleasant against her face, nor did she ever imagine that he could lift her off the ground. She made a surprised sort of squawk as it happened, as he wrapped his arms around her and began to carry her, feet dangling off the ground as he walked her back to his office. The surprise all disappeared as she became more preoccupied with kissing him and discovering different ways to do so. Quick, or long or slow, tongues meeting and parting, it was all perfect, because it was all Cullen.

He set her atop the desk after he nearly kicked down the door, deftly using one hand to close it behind him. Perched on the desk that they had shared meals with, he cradled her face again, his hungry mouth eager. Anya moaned as he kissed her neck, felt his palms roll down her back. He wanted to touch everywhere all at once, she could feel it in everything he did.

His fingers paused at the strap of her corset. The garment had been a necessity when she woke up that morning, just as it had been a necessity since she met him. Yet at that moment it was only something she wanted gone.

He helped her tear it off. Her full breasts pressed against his chest she embraced him and felt anew as their mouths explored and their bodies intertwined. There was no thought of someone possibly coming in a seeing, or maybe they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing. It was the first time a man had touched her, kissed her, wanted. As she allowed Cullen to pull away the strings at the top of her breasts and peel the fabric away, she knew she would never want anyone else. His tongue swirled over her pert nipple, his mouth warm against her curves, and all the while her fingers twisted into his hair, keeping him there to worship her.

“Anya,” he breathed, and it brought her back to life, to see and feel her darling Commander, her darling Cullen, to find her beautiful and worthy, to see what she always saw but never reveled in.

“I want to taste you. Let me taste you.”

She helped him pull off her smalls. His hair was in disarray, his eyes full of mischief behind his golden lashes as he sunk to the floor and parted her thighs. He spread his gloved palms against her flesh, opened her and gently ghosted over her clit as an enticing beginning. Anya’s last image of him before she sunk to the desk, her fingers toying with her nipples was the satisfied smirk against her Cullen’s scarred lips as he licked and sucked at her clit.

“Cullen,” she moaned, the ceiling of his office her heaven of starry skies, “yes, yes…Cullen…”

His name was more than a name, it was a prayer and a chant as his tongue swirled and his fingers rubbed. Bubbling, bursting. A delicious and warm tide. The sound of her soft moaning sigh as he brought her over the edge. He kissed her as she recovered, laying himself gently on top of her body, though she was still in starry skies. She would always be in starry skies with Cullen.

She felt his cock against her. Her hands, hands that had been through his hair and then his mantle, sank to the waistband of his trousers.

“You don’t have to. Maker this is perfect,” he said, but she wanted to take him to the stars too.

He was big in her hands, her thumb swirling against the tip. With her hands she brought him pleasure, made him bury his face into the crook her neck until he was panting and moaning. He pulsated in her hand, and when he came he called her name most beautifully and perfectly, the same sort of prayer she had given his name. Anya pinned below him and safe, they were both sweaty, still clothed, and Maker yes, they were both a mess, but Anya didn’t care about anything else, other than that they were together.

He called her beautiful one last time. She called him beautiful too. And that night, laying in each other’s arms, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by his bed. It had always been the little things she noticed about Cullen. Their first night together, it was how tightly his strong arms wrapped themselves around her body. It was how he saw her as beautiful, but she didn’t need him to, to know it was already true.

But still. She knew she would always want to hear it uttered from his lips.


End file.
